


Falling Stars and Lute Strings

by Aurelia Jade (sun_moon_and_stars)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Jaskier needs to learn to keep it in his pants, M/M, Multi, The only people to turn Geralt from Witcher to SoftBoy in seconds, a complete work of fanfiction from my own imagination, self-indulgent fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23124406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sun_moon_and_stars/pseuds/Aurelia%20Jade
Summary: This is the story of what it means to fall in love with the witcher.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	Falling Stars and Lute Strings

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this idea while discussing my love for Geralt and Jaskier with one of my best friends, after re-watching The Witcher for about the 6th time now, and deciding I need Geralt and Jaskier in my life. It’s quirky and awkward and serious and fun, just everything we already love about The Witcher all rolled up into my fanfiction. Please keep in mind that my story has nothing to do with any of the plot of the actual Witcher series.

Things don’t always go according to plan. That’s why Geralt of Rivia never made plans. He was content to let the coins fall where they may, as long as he was getting paid, he didn’t much care how the job was done. He had one goal: slay the monsters, get the coin. He knew the risks; he did the job; he got the money. It was his routine, and it worked for him. At least, it had for a while… until he met Jaskier. 

_“I’ve no need for a_ _bard_ _,” Geralt admitted gruffly. He wasn’t in the business of_ _politely rejecting people._

_“_ _Ah, but I could be much more than_ _just a_ _bard_ _,” Jaskier offered sweetly._

_“Do you not understand_ _the meaning of the word no?”_

_“I do, but you didn’t say no. What do you say, Witcher?”_

_“What’s in it for you, Bard?” Geralt inquired, as if he was really considering it._

_Jaskier’s eyes lit up, ocean blue pools that drew the hardened man’s stare to his face. “I could improve your reputation, in exchange for your... intimidating company.”_

And just like that, Geralt found himself stuck with Jaskier’s companionship, whether he wanted to be or not.

~ * ~

“We’ve been on this road for days, Geralt,” Jaskier whined from his place atop Roach’s back, snuggled up behind the quiet witcher. “Why are we going back to a pace that doesn’t want you there?” 

The bard was right; they were on the road heading into Blaviken. The last time Jaskier could recall Geralt being in Blaviken, the man had told him they’d run him from the small town, his presence there being unwelcome. He couldn’t for the life of him understand why on earth Geralt would want to go back there after such an unpleasant incident? He just wanted the chance to sit and relax somewhere peaceful without the prospect of anyone needing protection from the witcher. Despite having no control over who would come to call for Geralt’s help, Jaskier always accompanied him on his journeys. 

The afternoon sun hung in the sky, eclipsed by dark and ominous clouds. Jaskier hugged his arms a little tighter around Geralt’s waist. 

“You’re worried,” the witcher observed. 

“Can you blame me? I still remember what you told me from the last time you were there. And now we’re headed right back.” 

“You’ve no need to worry, Jaskier.” Geralt’s low voice rumbled, the vibrations tickled the young man’s cheek where it lay between his shoulder blades. 

“And yet,” he began with a sigh. “Here we are.” 

“Hm.” Geralt pulled his left hand free of its glove and gave Jaskier’s hands a gentle pat, softly caressing the backs of them with his calloused fingertips. 

Roach plodded onward, carrying them ever closer to their destination. Jaskier remained unsettled. 

“How about I buy you a beer when we get there?” Geralt tried after half an hour of silence had passed. 

Jaskier let out a small giggle. It wasn’t often when he did so, but it always made Geralt smile to hear. “You’ll buy me a beer, anyway. You always do.” 

“Alright, how about two beers, then?” 

“Are you trying to buy my affections with cheap booze, Witcher?” 

“If I were looking to buy your affections, Bard, I wouldn’t do so with cheap beer. Nor would I do so in Blaviken.” 

“Geralt?” 

“Hm?” 

“Why _are_ we going back to Blaviken?” Though Jaskier wanted nothing to do with a place that wouldn’t accept Geralt as he was, he couldn’t help but be a little curious. 

Geralt heaved a deep sigh. Jaskier worried too much. He was grateful for his companion’s presence, but the fear was unnecessary. However, he understood the man’s need for an explanation. “We’re checking up on an old... someone I used to know.” 

Jaskier perked up. “Ooh, a lady friend, hmm? Is she pretty?” 

“Shut up. Not that kind of friend.” Geralt swung his right leg over Roach’s head and dismounted. He’d raised the hood of his clock and let it obscure his face from view. “Come on, there’s beer waiting.” 

Jaskier climbed down and scrambled after Geralt, with his lute tucked close to his chest. He had a bad feeling about the whole thing, but he trusted Geralt more than he trusted his own gut. He followed Geralt’s heavy footsteps to the nearby tavern. He’d promised him beer after all. 

Silence fell over the tavern’s patrons upon Geralt and Jaskier’s entrance. It certainly felt as if they’d not forgotten Geralt’s previous transgressions in their town, though, it hadn’t gone down quite like they all remembered. But who was he to them except the _Butcher of Blaviken_ , the witcher who’d cut down at least 20 men where they stood? He didn’t blame them for their impression of him, he couldn’t. Not when they’d been under the influence of the town sorcerer. He simply wanted to exist alongside them, whether they demonized his existence was their problem. 

The heaviness on the air sent Jaskier retreating further into his bubble of worry. For all he’d been able to do in the years passed since meeting Geralt, improving the witcher’s image in this tiny town hadn’t gone to plan. Mere mention of him left a sour taste in the mouths of Blaviken’s residents, a taste no amount of storytelling on Jaskier’s part could change. 

The bard moved to stand in the middle of the tavern, plucked a few soft chords on his lute, and settled in to play a happy little jig. He left Geralt to his own devices, hoping the men inside were too drunk to take in his appearance. 

With Jaskier occupying the attention of the tavern’s inebriated audience, Geralt was free to slip unseen to a shadowed corner of the building. Well removed from the center of it all, he let himself rest just enough. He was keenly aware of the pair of eyes watching him from across the way, but made no move to acknowledge the otherwise uninvited presence except to offer the individual a curt nod. He knew, whether invited or not, she would find him. It’s why they agreed to meet there in Blaviken; he’d protested heavily, but in the end, she had her way. 

Geralt trained his wide eyes on Jaskier’s form, singing and dancing amid the crowd. His lips turned up into a small smile, seeing Jaskier do what he loved put him a little more at ease. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here so soon,” a sweet feminine voice spoke over his right shoulder. 

“We had a deal,” he answered. 

“Ah, I think you mean I have the coin.” The woman moved around to his left, taking the open seat across from him. The scent of milk and honey wafted around them. “I haven’t forgotten what it takes to draw you out of hiding, Witcher.” 

“Seren.” Geralt looked up to meet the woman’s gaze. He smiled, taking in her appearance before him. She looked just as she had the day they’d met, as young and wild as ever. Geralt couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about meeting Seren in this manner unnerved him. 

“It’s good to see you again, Geralt.” 

“Hm.” 

“Still a man of few words, I see.” 

“Get to the point, Seren. Why did you call me here?” 

The woman, Seren, sat back in her chair. She pulled the hood of her own cloak down, revealing light ashen grey hair that hung around her shoulders in loose curls, perfectly framing her face. Her eyes, a pale blue that appeared almost white—a stark contrast against her almond skin, stared intensely back at him. She lightly drummed her fingers against the table, then raised her hand in the air towards the barkeep and signaled for two beers. 

“Always straight to the point of things with you.” She sighed. “I remember a time when I could call on you for help and you were all too eager to lend a hand.” 

“Things change, Seren.” Geralt replied. He leaned forward in his chair, reached out and rolled a stray strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. 

The barkeep brought over two tankards of beer and set them down in front of Seren. She pushed one of them toward Geralt. “I told you, I need your help with a kikimora problem.” 

“Hm,” Geralt grunted in answer. He took a sip of beer and returned his attention to Jaskier. “You seem to forget I’ve known you for quite some time, Seren. I know when you’re lying to me.” He downed the liquid, stood up, and headed for the door. 

Seren rose quickly, turning to face Geralt. She rushed after the man, determined to change his mind. “I need to see a friend of mine in Novigrad, we’re supposed to meet within a week’s time. Her name is Kat. She works at the Passiflora.” 

“Jaskier! We’re leaving.” Geralt stated abruptly as he passed by the bard. 

“I pissed off someone of great importance there a few years ago,” she continued in a rush. “A nobleman—I fled the city. Turns out that trying to disappear only stoked the fires of his anger and he hired someone to follow me. If I’m caught, he’ll sell me to a brothel. He doesn’t care how it’s done as long as he’s paid.” 

Geralt made no move to acknowledge Seren’s story. He untied Roach from the post outside of the tavern and stopped to gently stroke his hand down her muzzle. 

“Oh, you are quite lovely.” Jaskier set his eyes in Seren’s face and took a step toward her. His gaze traveled down her body, stopping where her cloak would’ve met around her neck, but it remained open. Underneath the covering, she wore a dark purple dress that fit snuggly around her torso. She appeared to be half a foot shorter than Geralt was, but every bit as rough around the edges as the battle-hardened man. Jaskier noted the silver medallion that sat against her chest, drawing his attention to the valley of her breasts. 

Jaskier’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Yes, quite lovely indeed. Tell me, mystery woman, how would you review your… _time_ with the witcher?” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned. He grabbed the back of the young man’s shirt and pulled him back toward Roach. 

Seren held up her hand, stopping Geralt’s reprimand. “Please, I need your help. If you come with me, I’ll pay for your lodging and anything else as long as you need it. I’m good for the coin, Geralt, you know this.” 

The older man said nothing, instead removing his cloak and shoving it into one of Roach’s saddlebags. His amber eyes met Seren’s begging icy blue ones, and for a moment he hesitated. He turned back to his horse, and Seren had his answer. 

He approached her slowly, his expression remained stoic. Geralt pulled the woman into his arms. She went rigid against his larger frame. They stood together for a few minutes with time stretching on as he leaned down to place a gentle kiss to her forehead—something he’d always done in parting. 

Disbelief cast a dark shadow over Seren’s features as she slipped effortlessly from Geralt’s hold. If he’d been a mere mortal, the look she was giving him surely would have cut him down where he stood. 

She tossed her leather coin purse at his feet. “Take your coin and leave, Geralt.” 

The witcher watched her turn away from him, skirts dancing in the wind. Their lives had become a raging storm; Seren was the eye, and Geralt was at the center. 

“Fuck.” 

**Author's Note:**

> We are just getting started!
> 
> Please don't repost my work anywhere without permission, thank you!
> 
> I'm a slut for Henry Cavill and the whole Netflix series, sorry not sorry.


End file.
